Malet took a bite of cheese toast and then licked butter off his fingers. He launched into an account of the past weeks' doings, including a full confession on the identity of the Police inspector who had been tied to the tree in the Jardin du Luxembourg.
Plougastel was very amused. "Serves Guerin right!" he said. "No wonder Emil Fougeroux was chuckling when I saw him yesterday on the way home! He must have heard the story from his man."
"Probably so. He does enjoy a good gossip." He ate two more pieces of cheese toast and then started on the apricot conserve.
"That he does." Plougastel, who had only had one piece of toast, helped himself to a slice of bacon, frowned as Malet eyed his waistcoat again, and bit defiantly into the bacon.
Malet watched him chew and said, "I will be asking for the transfer of a man to this arrondissement: one of Guerin's people, a fellow named Saint‑Légère."
"Another lost lamb?" said Plougastel.
Malet shrugged. "Not quite," he said. "I have been reading his reports. He's an honest fellow with a gift for observation and an excellent sense of humor. He might need a little attention, but not much. He ran afoul of Guerin."
"Do as you see fit, Paul," Plougastel said, taking another bite. "I haven't known any of your picks to turn out badly. You should know, though: Guerin's been grumbling again."
Malet nodded. "It's this matter I am working on now."
"But I was under the impression that it's an ethics case," said Plougastel. "It's out of his hands."
"That's right," said Malet with a dark smile. "Guerin can go whistle for all of me. He tried to throw his weight around yesterday at the Prefecture, and I sent him packing with a flea in his ear. But I am sure he will find an excuse to raise a stink when M. le Prefet comes back - which, by the way, he's planning to do in a little over two weeks - and denounce me for a misbegotten cur without breeding or manners - "
"He'd better not," said Plougastel.
"I can fight my own battles," said Malet. "I have this one nicely mapped out."
"That may be," said Plougastel, "But your men are getting tired of Guerin's lip. There have been some rumblings."
"Good God! Stop them, then! Tell them I will be angry if there's any unpleasantness."
"As you wish." Plougastel lifted the coffee pot. "Would you like some more?"
"Please," said Malet. He was silent as his cup was refilled. "You know, Georges," he said, "I can't tell you anything about this present case - the one that has put Guerin's nose out of joint - but I am expecting word from that snitch that L'Eveque used to use: Michaud. His information is crucial, and in the interest of discretion - I am being shadowed and I don't want to jeopardize the man - I have asked that he send it to you. Would you relay it immediately to me at the inn? I am always there in the evenings."
Plougastel stared. "Are you running mad, Paul?" he demanded. "What would be more suspicious than to bring information to the Bastille in God's name?"
Malet smiled at Plougastel over the rim of his cup. "You're shouting," he said gently. "What must they be thinking downstairs? And you wrong me, I promise you. Criminals seldom think of the obvious. The thought of anyone being fool enough to send information openly to my headquarters is as unthinkable to them as it is to you. They won't be looking for it. Surely you have heard that the safest place to pick pockets is right in front of a Police precinct."
Plougastel shook his head. "I will take your word for it, Paul," he said. "The less I know of the workings of crooks' minds the happier I will be. And don't bother to tell me I will never make Prefect, for I promise you I don't care! Tell Michaud to bring his information to me and I will carry it over personally."
Malet finished his coffee and set it down. "Very good," he said. "I don't know what I'd do without you. When you do come over, you can have one of the veal dishes they serve at the Rose d'Or."
"Agreed," Plougastel said.
"And you can meet the landlady, Mme. de Clichy," Malet said in a slightly softened voice that made Plougastel look closely at him and then smile. But Malet didn't see the look.
XL
FIGHTING SHADOWS
Chief Inspector Emil Fougeroux of the 6th arrondissement was a kindly man and a courageous commander, but with an unruly streak of mischief to him. The piece of news that Constable Leygues, whose beat took in the grounds of the Jardin du Luxembourg, had brought to him early one afternoon, had been too delectable a tidbit to let pass. He had had occasion to speak with Malet several times, and he had managed each time to include a gently needling reference to trees and parks and the misfortune suffered by Chief Inspector Guerin.
Malet preserved a dignified demeanor, agreed cordially with Fougeroux on the subject of Inspector Guerin's humiliation and misfortune, and turned his attention to more crucial matters.
The sight of Dracquet's assassin in the crowd of onlookers watching him being untied from that tree had shaken him. Malet realized that he owed his life to the fact that Vaux had gagged him. Vaux had immediately sent to his rescue the most upright and innocuous‑appearing group of young men he could find. If Malet had been able to shout for help, the first person to come probably would have been Pierre le Noir, who had most likely been hovering nearby hoping to ambush him. The crowd of onlookers had frustrated him, and now he was nowhere to be found.
The apparent risk to his life was enough to make Malet pause and think very carefully. The upshot of that spell of concentrated thought was an urgent request for an interview with Count d'Anglars.
** ** **
"Le Noir had you, tied and helpless, in the sights of his pistol?" d'Anglars said, incredulous. "And you were saved because some busybody of a woman stepped between you to offer her vinaigrette just as he was leveling his firearm? Good God! Why didn't you tell me this before? I will go to Our Lady of Consolation this very evening and light an entire bank of twenty centime candles! It's the least I can do to show my gratitude to the Almighty for rescuing you from the consequences of your own folly!"
Malet said nothing.
D'Anglars rose and paced across his salon. They were in his luxurious house fronting the Place Francois Ier. He had requested that chocolate be brought in, but neither he nor Malet had so much as tasted their cups.
He rounded on Malet. "And only now do you tell me that you have been followed in earnest since the morning Dracquet came to that inn!" he exclaimed. "It surpasses everything!"
"Yes, Monseigneur," Malet said with the grim calmness of one who, facing the music, finds the tune not at all to his liking. "It didn't seem important before."
"Not impor - !" D'Anglars didn't finish the word. He shook his head. "I don't like it," he said. "I don't like it at all! You have been tailed all this time, and you saw that hired killer in the Jardin du Luxembourg!"
Malet nodded.
"And the man who tied you to the tree must have been in on it, as well! We'd better find him and bring him in!"
Malet winced. "No, Monseigneur," he said. "That particular criminal is well known to me. The incident was completely unconnected with the other. He found my pistol in my pocket and didn't use it. He'd have died rather than deal with Le Noir. I know, in fact, that he sent those lads to rescue me."
D'Anglars frowned at him. "It seems to me that there's more to that incident than meets the eye," he said. "What happened there?"
Malet schooled his face to unconcern. "An old score," he said. "I had it coming to me for a long time. It was settled and I have matters well in hand, now. He's not the problem."
"Not the problem..." D'Anglars said. He turned and faced Malet fully and then finally shrugged. "My dear Inspector," he said, "I appreciate the crucial nature of this case, and I am aware that you have taken every precaution to safeguard the information you have gathered - "
"My notes are very comprehensive. And I have been in close communication with my two lieutenants in this matter, Inspector d'Arthez, who is undercover at the moment, and Inspector Richet. I believe Inspector L'Eveque would be
capable of stepping in as well if anything were to happen to me."
D'Anglars dismissed those considerations with an impatient motion of his hand. "Poppycock!" he said. "I personally have the power to issue a warrant for Dracquet's arrest and imprisonment. I don't like to use that power, but I'd have few scruples in this case in view of our suspicions, and you know it! That doesn't concern me: what does concern me is the question of your safety. Do you understand the magnitude of the loss this force would suffer if anything were to happen to you?"
"Bah!" said Malet. "There are others as good as me!"
"I have yet to see them!" d'Anglars snapped. He took another turn about the room and then looked consideringly at Malet. "You saw Le Noir while you were being untied from that tree, you say."
"Yes. I'd been half‑expecting him, since I had told Dracquet only minutes before that I wanted nothing to do with him. I suspected that he would send le Noir after me. The students and the crowd kept him at a distance."
"Hm. Thank God for those students, then, and the man - whoever he was - who sent them! And God bless that woman with the smelling salts!" Count d'Anglars lifted his cup of chocolate, tested the warmth of the drink, and set the cup down with a grimace. "This was too close to make me happy, M. Malet," he said. "I don't need to be warned twice. I will assign a bodyguard."
"But Monseigneur - !"
"No arguments! If you are to continue this investigation, you shall have a bodyguard accompany you. If not, then I will take you off this case and give it over to Messieurs d'Arthez and Richet."
Malet sighed and looked down at his hands. "But I have taken every precaution since then," he said.
"Indeed?" said d'Anglars. He did not sound convinced.
Malet looked up. "I have been riding cabs instead of walking, I have taken care to stay in crowded areas, and I have curtailed my evening walks, as well. No one's come near me - "
"But you're still being shadowed?"
"Not by assassins!"
"Oh?" d'Anglars said with deceptive mildness, "How can you tell?"
Malet shrugged. "You can tell," he said. He raised his eyes to d'Anglars' and said, "Please, Monseigneur. Gilles d'Arthez hasn't seen Le Noir since that day - "
"I assume our friend Dracquet has a basement and an attic in which to hide things that he wants no one to see," d'Anglars said acidly.
Malet ignored the sarcasm. "To saddle me with a bodyguard would be like belling a cat just as he's about to tackle a nest of rats," he said. "I am closing the gap: I beg you, don't tie my hands now!"
"I don't equate protecting your life with tying your hands!" d'Anglars snapped. He added more gently, "I have already told you how valuable you are to this force as an officer. Perhaps I haven't adequately expressed your considerable value to me, personally, as a man. It would grieve me greatly to lose you."
"But if the cause is serious enough," Malet said, "an officer of the Law must be ready to give his life."
D'Anglars looked him over much as one might survey a freak at a carnival. "I concede the point," he said, "But there's a vast difference between being willing to sacrifice your life to advance a good cause and your current crack‑brained determination to chase after Constant Dracquet's creatures shouting, 'Here I am: come and kill me!'"
He saw Malet's expression and fell silent. He resumed after a moment in a slightly altered voice. "Continue as you have: be cautious, take no needless risks. I will hold off assigning a bodyguard for now. But - " he frowned at Malet as he went to the bell rope, " -the next time I say that you must have a bodyguard, there will be no argument."
** ** **
A note was delivered the Prefecture four days after his fight with Vaux, written on scented paper, sealed, and addressed to Malet:
Paul -
I am leaving for London in two days. Come to my house tomorrow before noon. I miss you, and I have some information for you that I believe you will find useful in your current case. I cannot be specific, but I have reason to believe that you will find it of crucial importance
Rosalie
Malet scanned the lines, then lifted the chimney from the oil lamp on his desk and held the note in the flame until it was consumed. Then he sat back, frowning, to think. He took up pen and paper after a moment and wrote:
Rosalie:
Meet me at 11:30 a.m. at the Place Vauban, on horseback, instead. We can ride through the Champ de Mars. If there is no response, I shall assume that this is agreeable to you.
Paul
He folded the note, selected a wafer, heated it, and sealed the note. That done, he rose and went out into the anteroom.
Two of the office boys were sitting at an empty desk and playing at dice. They jumped to attention as they felt Malet's gaze on them, and the nearer one tried to fumble the dice into his pocket.
"Alphonse," said Malet, nodding to the boy with the hint of a grim smile.
"M‑me, M. Chief Inspector?" the boy stammered.
"Yes. You. Take this message to the address on the front. It's urgent: see that it is given to the major‑domo there, and no one else. Wait to see if there is a response, and then come straight back here."
He handed the note to the boy and watched him hurry off. "Oh - Alphonse - " he said.
The boy turned. Malet tossed him a franc. "Stop and enjoy a glass of wine on the way back," he said.
The boy grinned, sketched a salute, and left at a run.
** ** **
"Be careful with this fellow, M. Chief Inspector," said the head hostler the next day. They were standing in the inner courtyard of the Prefecture, gazing at the bay thoroughbred stallion, which had been brought over from the Police stables at Malet's direction. "I know you have had an eye to him since he was first brought in, but no one's had the chance to give him a good gallop. He needs to have the fidgets shaken out of his legs."
Malet let his eyes travel down the stallion's arched neck and along his strong, sloping shoulder. The light ran in all colors along the glossy hide, almost blue in the shadows, almost golden in the highlights. "He is a beauty," Malet said.
"And a real gentleman, for all his spirit," said the hostler with a grin. "Here - " he handed the reins over and then eyed Malet's height and build. "He's well up to your weight, but the stirrups'll need to be lengthened. Wait a minute and I will do that for you right now."
Malet thanked him and spoke softly to the stallion while the hostler adjusted the leathers. The horse was nervous; his ears had been flicking back and forth. As Malet spoke, they slowed and finally pricked forward.
"All set, Inspector," said the hostler.
Malet nodded, gathered the reins in his left hand, set his left foot in the stirrup, and then sprang into the saddle.
The stallion snorted and danced a little at the weight upon his back, but stood quietly enough after a moment.
"Very good," said Malet. He nudged the horse to a walk and then a trot, then collected him easily. The stallion moved smoothly over the cobblestones, and then eased into a rocking, collected canter.
Malet nodded, slowed the horse to a trot, then a walk, and then halted. He looked over at the two gendarmes flanking the gate. "One of you step outside and see how clear the street is," he said.
The stallion jibbed at the bit and danced sideways. "Don't worry, my boy," Malet told him with a grin, "One more second and you'll get all the running you want!"
The large oak doors opened inward a crack, and the younger of the gendarmes edged through. He came back after a moment. "Clear, M. l'Inspecteur," he said.
"Very good," said Malet. "Open the gates and stand aside." When the gates were completely open, Malet eased the stallion to a walk that quickened to a trot and then a gallop. They swept beneath the gateway with a flick of the stallion's black tail and clattered onto the cobblestoned street.
Three tough‑looking characters lounging in the shadow of the Sainte‑Chappelle jumped to their feet and stared as he pounded past them, rounded the corner of the Boulevard du Palais and tu
rned onto the Quai des Orfevres. They made a half‑hearted attempt to follow him, but they slowed and stopped after half a block. Malet saw them arguing among themselves; the sight made him grin.
He was at the Place Dauphine; he cut directly through and then caught the northern half of the Pont Neuf and crossed the river at a tearing gallop that did not lessen until he had reached the Louvre, when he reined the stallion to a collected trot and sat back to think.
The horse shook his head and pulled lightly at the bit. Malet chuckled and said, "So you want to run again, eh? Well, then, let's run! It would be rude to keep a lady waiting!" And he turned the stallion toward the high, gilded dome of Les Invalides.
XLI
A LADY PROVIDES THE STAGE SETTING
Rosalie Plessis flung the trailing skirt of her royal blue riding habit over her left arm and smiled up at Malet. "You always were prompt, dearest Paul," she said. "Eleven‑thirty exactly!"
"I'd never dream of keeping a lady waiting." Malet swung down from the saddle and led his horse over to Rosalie. They were in the shadow of the Dome des Invalides, in the Place Vauban. He took in the full elegance of her habit with its deep, plunging neckline edged with ruffles of lisle, and its wide, full sleeves, as he raised her hand to his lips.
She read his thoughts. "You approve?" she asked. "I had this from Courceline this week."
"You are completely elegant."
Her hand went to her neckline. "This isn't too décolleté, is it?" she asked. Whether by accident or design, the motion of her hand showed the tantalizing hint of soft shadows between swells of firm rosy flesh.
"Not at all," Malet replied with a knowing smile. "It suits the purpose very well." He offered his arm and then, when she had tucked her hand in it and was walking beside him, said, "Now what is this information you thought I should have?"
She gazed up at him with a direct smile. "Oh no, M. Chief Inspector," she said. "I know you too well. I may never see you again: I want to spend at least part of the afternoon with you. Come walk with me a ways, and I will tell you what I have."
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